5.

Cars had an interesting stigma around the school. If you owned one, then the chances of you being rich was high. If you didn't own own? You were considered dirt at the undersides of shoes to the people who did. The only students that owned cars or borrowed them every morning for school in Peter's year were Flash Thompson, a few of his irrelevant (and highly annoying) friends and an old friend of Peter's, Harrison Osbornfield. This is mainly due to these kids being born before a lot of the other kids, leading them to get a license before everyone else.

It wasn't an incredibly big deal to others, but for some reason it was the world to the car owners. Which also meant that they would show off their vehicles any chance they got.

Keys were twirled in the fingers, horns were honked, and in a less subtle way; they screamed the lyrics from the latest Taylor Swift with all of the windows rolled down. It made the egos of the owners skyrocket to unknown heights when someone would compliment the hunk of metal spray painted to look pretty.

Unfortunately, it also caused their attention to the road to lessen, and some inevitable curbs scraped, poles bumped, and near misses with others.

-.-

Peter was walking with his friends as he usually did in the morning. The teen would take the train to the nearest stop and wait by Delmars for Ned, then they'd take a five minute detour to catch up with MJ who would always be creating some kind of playlist for every mood she had. Then, they would speedwalk to catch up on the five minutes they lost, buy some snacks, and stroll into their classes as soon as the bell rung.

"Pete, hold my books for a second," MJ said, giving him the second hand textbooks everyone used as she knelt down to tie her shoelace. Ned did the same; noticing that his Jordans had come loose and a bit scuffed. He cleaned the tips of the shoes and began tying the strings.

Peter turned around to watch people go by, knowing that for some odd reason his friends never took any shorter than a few minutes when doing simple knots.

In an instant, his stomach flipped and chills shot down his spine, spidey senses going batshit crazy. He sucked in his breath, eyes glazing around, trying to spot the trouble.

He strained his ears and tuned them to some kind of melody in the distant. Madonna filled his ears.

Flash, definitely.

He focused his eyes to see as far as they could, fishing for his glasses that he rarely used anymore in his pockets. After the spider bite he didn't need the prescription lens anymore, but they helped him when he was trying to focus too hard on background details.

Pressing the circular shaped frames on his nose, he waited as his eyes adjusted themselves. Flash had the roof of his convertible down, his sunglasses reflected a bright shine. He was singing along to Material Girl, his favorite song. He obviously wasn't paying attention to the road, his attention too focused on making his head bounce to the rhythm, and moving his free hand to the beat.

What was his speed? Forty? Fifty? Whatever it was, if he were to brake suddenly for whatever reason, he wouldn't be able to stop himself in time. But the goosebumps on his arm told him that there was something else, something missing.

A stone skidded into the road, followed by a cry of delight, and manic footsteps. Peter knew what was going to happen.

To say it all happened so far was an understatement. Peter had dropped the books, ran into the road at a speed he wasn't aware he even had, reached his arms out and shoved the freshman out of harms way. Just like he predicted, Flash didn't stop in time, he screamed as he slammed his foot on the brake, but it was no use.

He barrelled right into Peter's small frame, causing the boy to flatten against the hood of the BMW, getting knocked out in the process.

Flash's screams were joined by many other onlookers, they just watched little Peter Parker get murdered! Most were frozen in fear, but MJ darted forwards, holding her friend who had now fallen from the hood and onto the asphalt.

"Is he okay??" Flash wailed, tears building up in his eyes. Sure, he didn't like the boy, but he didn't want to kill him! No, he did like the boy, and would rather himself did than Peter. The smaller teen proved to be way more valuable to the future than himself.

Michelle sucked in her breath and placed the pads of her two fingers against his neck, finding his pulse easily.

"He's breathing." She said, a single tear leaking from her eye and dancing across her cheek. She moved his body to a more comfortable position, she sat on the road and rested his head onto her legs.  "I think he's okay, he probably knocked out from hitting his head on the hood. It doesn't look like he broke any bones."

"Yeah. Probably." Flash teetered over to Peter where a crowd had formed, each person giving advice on something they knew nothing about. MJ held his head in her laps, combing through his hair delicately.

"He saw it before anyone else. It was so dumb, and so brave." She murmured. Her face grew from soft to rage in an instant, she turned to Flash. "Why the hell were you doing fifty in a school zone?!"

"I-I didn't realise, I swear I don't mean to." He was full on crying now, any reputable reputation shattered as he knelt down next to Peter, holding his own clammy hands into the warm smaller one.

"I'm calling the police just so they can take your licence. You clearly don't deserve it." Ned had finally pushed his way into the crowd and dug his phone out, doing what MJ said rather than her, seeing as she'd probably get herself arrested while she was on the phone.

"That's fair, I don't think I want to be behind another wheel ever again." He said solemnly, squeezing Peter's hand a little. He knew he shouldn't be feeling these feelings at a time like this - he nearly killed someone and now he's got butterflies in his stomach for being so close to the boy?

"I'm so sorry, Parker. I'll make it up to you when you get better. Promise."

"Don't sound too gay." Ned said after he put the phone down, smirking slightly.

"I-I am not gay!"

"Madonna? Holding hands? That quiff? Gay."

"So maybe I am? So what?"

"Nothing, nothing. It's just-"

"Okay boys, focus please. I want to make sure Peter's alright. I don't think anyone cares about what hole Flash likes to use. Kindly shut the fuck up."

"Lan-"

"Don't you dare."

+1

This is a trigger warning. I don't want anyone to freak out about it because this is about a school shooting.

The doors were locked and students were huddled behind their desks, most of them crying, all of them holding another, petrified of what was going to happen next.

They were in lockdown, and due to the four gun shots they had heard a few minutes before, they all knew that it wasn't a drill.

Welcome to American high schools, you never know when you're safe.

Peter already had his web shooters ready and visible on his wrists, his long sleeved jumper pulled at the sleeves to his elbows for easy access. He could hear the squeezing of the boots from the kid with the gun, and estimated he was about two floors beneath them.

"It's Jacob Lawry," MJ told them in a loud whisper, showing everyone his Instagram page on her phone. "He is the only student who publicly announced they owned illegal weapons and guns, he always mentioned how much he hated the school, and the kids in his year loved to pick on him. It's definitely him."

Peter managed to get a good look of the photo, his mind determined. He grabbed through his backpack, searching for his mask to somewhat conceal his identity.

"I'll be right back." He said, before reaching to the window and climbing out. The concerned, confused stares of his classmates
followed him, some begging him not to go, wait for the authorities, for God's sake don't try and be the hero!

They happened to be on the ground floor so Peter didn't have to worry about scaling the building yet. The plan he had formulated in his head was severely risky, with all of the potential variables, Peter wasn't even sure if he would live after this. Still, he ducked down and kept himself close to the walls, running as fast as he could back to the school entrance.

He sneaked inside, and the sight of bloodied footprints almost made him gag. He wasn't sure who the blood belonged to and didn't really want to find out. Darting along the halls, he zipped cleanly up the stairs, listening out for the shooter.  Anyone with a brain would know where the psycho was and his plan: he was starting at the top floor and working his way down, the only living thing remaining would be whatever everyone saw crawling around inside that old gym sock.

If he was honest, Peter really didn't want to do this. Was it ungrateful, selfish even, to wish the responsibilities of being a teenage superhero on someone else? Not that he didn't enjoy the thrill of swinging around the bustling streets of NYC, he just sometimes didn't want to be put in these sorts of situations, knowing that the blood would be on his hands if he couldn't save everyone.

Shaking his head to clear those thoughts, Peter scuttled up the stairs, risking his dignity for his safety. The teen's eyes grew large as another kid was standing in the middle of the hall, seemingly not bothered about the fact that there was literally a murderer roaming around the school with a gun filled with bullets.

"Get down!" Peter hissed at him, swiping the air with his hands in a down motion just incase the kid couldn't hear. "Get out of here!"

"Lol, why?" The kid smirked, dabbing as he did so. Peter visibly and mentally cringed all over.

"It's dangerous, you can get hurt." Peter reminded the obviously strange teen.

"I don't care. I've been wanting to die for a while. Quick, what are my last words, give me ideas!"

"Wha-" A gun shot blew up in their ears, followed by manic laughter. The psycho was only one floor above them, and definitely getting closer.

Peter ran over to the kid and pulled him into a classroom and pushing him to the opposite end of the room, making sure he was safe before leaving the room and locking the door behind him. Zero deaths, he smirked to himself.

As he turned from the door, there stood the kid with the gun, pointing and aiming for Peter's head.

"You didn't make it into a classroom in time?" His accent was thick, he was probably from Germany, but Peter couldn't really place it.

"Jacob," Peter gasped out, terror flooding over him. He whipped his hands up to show he was unarmed, eyeing the security camera in the corner of the wall. With that thing there, he had no chance of using any webs, not wanting to expose himself if he could help it. "Put down the gun, please. I only wanna talk. You can stop this right now, man. You can stop all of this. You can go home, eat a pudding cup, and work on your homework.

"You're just a kid, and so am I. We're way too young to be doing this!"

"Are you telling me to wait until I'm eighteen to plaster your brains on the wall like cement?" He seethed, emptying the barrel and shoving more golden casings inside.

"Ideally, not at all, but in this case yes." Peter eyed the gun warily, there was no way he'd be able to successfully dodge the bullets in such a narrow corridor.

"Peter Parker. You're like me. You are bullied for being yourself. Too smart for the people around you. Does that not drive you mad?"

"No, because I've learned how to ignore it, that the words are nothing but insignificant little pokes to me. It doesn't bother me anymore." He took a few steps forward, slow, gradual, unnoticeable.

"Well it does for me," he raised and aimed the gun, firing twice and never missing once.

Peter took this opportunity though. With blood seeping from his stomach in two different places, he jumped onto the man, grabbing the gun, and pushing the man to the floor. He put the gun on safe mode, before throwing down the hall, focusing on keeping the criminal plastered on the floor.

His clothes began to stain red, a large imperfect circle growing on the grey fabric fitted to him. Peter hissed, his teeth gritting through the pain. The superkid pressed his hands firmly against Lawry's wrists, using some of his strength to completely immobilise him.

"How many did you injure?" Peter gasped out, tears threatening to spill over. "How many?"

Jacob spat at him, but Peter dodged. "Their legs are gone-" He let out another crazed laugh. "I wouldn't kill anyone. Just make them suffer for he rest of their lives." Peter groaned, hating the fact that he couldn't run up the stairs to help the kids bleeding out. He tried not to tune out his hearing in order to not have to listen to the cries and begging from above him.

"Why did you do this?" Peter continued to interrogate. Jacob rolled his eyes, sighing as if it were obvious.

"They ridiculed me. They mocked me. They made my life a misery. They got what they deserved-"

"Not everyone! Upstairs, there are some amazing, kind, and brilliant individuals, that did not deserve any of that!"

"They didn't do anything to help me! They are just as bad as the others."

Despite a million thoughts racing around his mind, and the thumping pain from his abdomen, Peter found himself completely unable to respond. The sirens in the distance were too distracting.

Wait, sirens.

Thank fuck, Peter thought, letting out the longest breath he never knew he was holding. He let a tear fall with relief, knowing that this whole ordeal was going to be taken care of.

"Stop crying on me."

"Shut the fuck up." He seethed, bringing Jacob up and holding his now broken wrists behind his back, making sure that he couldn't escape. Jacob barked out in pain, his wrists bruised all kinds of colors.

Peter led him down the stairs, impatiently prompting him to hurry up by slightly shoving him along. It was insane, how badly Peter wanted to just shove the kid hard, make him tumble down the stairs, beat the shit out of him, and leave him as a mess for the police to deal with. But he knew he couldn't do that, the victims deserved their own justice.

The blue and red lights streamed through the large windows at the entrance. Breathing in harshly, Peter braced himself before he kicked at the doors, causing them to fly open instantly. Peter pushed Jacob forwards again, leading him outside of the school, in the centre of a surrounded police squadron.

There were police cars everywhere, their lights swarming and covering every inch in the broad daylight. The officers instantly brought out their guns, pointing and aiming, screaming to raise their hands.

Peter gritted his teeth, pushing Jacob forwards and out of his grip before letting his hands go just above his head, his stomach prevented them to go any higher.

"There are multiple casualties on the top two floors," Peter yelled over the megaphones. They stopped shouting for a moment to give Peter a chance for his voice to be heard. "Shots fired, uhm- shit- you gotta help them."

 He collapsed to the ground, the rioting pain exploding around his abdomen, and he clasped the fabric around his wounds, tears falling freely.

His vision went prismatic, everything in sight doubling, tripling, splitting and twisting and morphing and spazzing and--

He wanted to scream, but he was convinced there would be no point, he couldn't even hear himself anymore. He felt as if he was underwater, or at least his head was constantly breaking the surface of water, much like how Tony had been water-boarded back in Afghanistan (this confession being highly confidential and strictly Peter's ears only). His hearing felt rushed and distant, yet an unbearable screaming at the same time.

The pain was insufferable at this point. It was thumping and spreading, like a virus taking over its host. He couldn't tell the difference between the touch of the gentle yet desperate paramedics at his side, to the searing torture dancing its jolted routine around his abdomen.

With lolling eyes. he barely managed to process his father rushing over to instruct the team of emergency nurses to change their route to Avengers Towers, insisting that Peter was one of the select few that meant more than the world to him. 

Peter finally closed his eyes when he found his friends running out of the building, hundreds of others in the same position - all crying but grateful for their lives.

-.-

America recognised Peter's heroics as soon as the news broke CNN headlines.

The security footage from the school of Peter's tackle was plastered on newspaper headlines, praising him and creating awareness over the whole situation, causing more anti-gun movements and riots to be demonstrated by like minded citizens all over the country.

When Peter had returned back into school a few months later (with a pair of crutches for authenticity), he was immediately ushered with grateful hugs, everyone appreciating the boy who had stopped hundreds of students from facing their deaths. He hobbled along with the other students who were bound to metal sticks into the elevators, steadying each other when they lost their balance, laughing and joking about their PTSD; 'Bro, i can't even have popcorn without struggling to breathe'.

And after all of this, Peter was never picked on again by any of his classmates, all having a newfound respect for the boy

whoochieee mama

way too long to publish, and the ending sucked. eh

so my boyfriend broke up with me and we just newly got back together but i have some questions

what the hell do i say to someone with mental health issues??

he says he sees his dead brother, but i just stood their not knowing what to say

yall help

xoxo 

alina